


Hamsa

by clumsygyrl (thegirlthatisclumsy)



Series: Neu Orleans 'verse [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance, The Used
Genre: AU, M/M, Magic, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-11
Updated: 2006-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-10 16:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlthatisclumsy/pseuds/clumsygyrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn’t supposed to be here.  He wasn’t afraid though.  The old apothecarist, the one they called King Fisher, had scared him.  Made him feel as though his skin would crawl off his bones and hide in the dark corners, in the glossy black of shadows.</p>
<p>He wasn’t afraid here now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hamsa

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: AU of the AUiest variety that ever AU'ed  
> Author's notes: glossy and tack from wakethemuse. white for fanfic100. also... this comes from my [las almas perdidas](http://www.livejournal.com/users/ficlaidbare/13285.html) 'verse
> 
> Written so very long ago, all mistakes and typos belong to me.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t afraid though. The old apothecarist, the one they called King Fisher, had scared him. Made him feel as though his skin would crawl off his bones and hide in the dark corners, in the glossy black of shadows.

He wasn’t afraid here now.

Peeking around the corner, Mikey spied the new owner.

For two weeks, Ray had only referred to him as the “new one”. Everyone else in the Quarter called him Father.

Not because they were his children.

More that they were his flock.

He heard Gerard talking about the Father. An ex-priest turned owner of an apothecary. From a place where salt pushed up from the ground, coloring it with white. 

A place named for its natives. A mountain people.

His face unconsciously rubbed against the finely sanded and polished wood, smelling oils. Different ones than what his mother used to use for their floors. Something exotic.

He watched.

The casual climb of shadow and light over the decorated back. At first glance, he thought it could be lash marks. Like the Savior the Father once led his flock to. For salvation.

But they weren’t.

Lines. Intersecting figures and letters. Runes. Pictures. Etched into pale white skin. 

He recognized a few of them. Things he’d seen in books. Hamsa. An eye cradled in the palm of complicated knotwork lines. 

Billy Johnson once told him that they had a metal wrought iron one. They’d tacked it near their front door. It was to ward off evil spirits. _The evil eye._

“Are you going to stare at me all day, boy? Or come here and make yourself known.” The voice was close, too close. 

Mikey jerked back, eyes wide and he felt himself retreating, wondering wildly where Ray was.

“Ahh the quiet one. I’ve heard of you. Come in then. Your big haired friend will be by in a bit to come collect you I’m sure.” Father walked away from Mikey, setting a stool near the counter. 

He was shirtless, low slung caramel coloured pants hung on his hips. Sharp jutting bones covered by the pale white ink scarred skin.

That’s what tattoos were. Scars filled with ink. 

Mikey sat down gingerly, afraid the simple wood of the chair might hold him captive. Not an unfounded thought in a place like Neu Orleans.

Father tilted his head to the side, examining Mikey, quantifying his worth with a too rapid flick of soot coloured lashes. “I’ve heard of you. A pretty raven comes in to barter. Information for pretty glass bottles and throwaway unguents.” He smiled a smile full of secrets and shadows.

They were everywhere in this place. Mikey realized and he felt like hiding in himself again. Retreating till he was safe again.

“They,” he said with a chuckle. “Call me Father. You may call me Jepha.”

Then there was a laugh.

And Mikey knew that it was the sound of darkness and light.

He didn’t know which there was more of.

But he still wasn’t afraid.


End file.
